


Aftermath

by wisdomeagle



Category: Baby-Sitters Club - Martin
Genre: Community: femslash_today, F/F, Future Fic, Holiday, Thanksgiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-29
Updated: 2007-01-29
Packaged: 2017-10-05 02:38:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/36891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wisdomeagle/pseuds/wisdomeagle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ancient history.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the unporn battle [**here**](http://community.livejournal.com/femslash_today/53181.html).

Mary Anne is full. Her stomach is full of turkey and gravy and tofu and mashed potatoes; her eyelashes are full of snow and sleet, and her head is full of swirling thoughts. She can't remember the last time the whole family was home for Thanksgiving. Usually either Dawn or Jeff was with their dad, or she or Dawn or Jeff was with a significant other, or Dawn was with friends, or she was with Kristy, and one year, Sharon had appendicitis and they all had Thanksgiving in Stoneybrook General.

Having all of them (plus Dawn's wife and two small children, and Jeff's girlfriend) eating together made Mary Anne remember. Not bad memories. Well. Some arguments, and even some screaming, because there was a lot of screaming at first. But mostly it was quiet. When Mary Anne was in high school, living with just Dad and Sharon, the nights were unbroken silence, almost lonely. It was strange to have so many people and so many sounds tonight. Uncanny.

She's so full of yesterday that she loses track of where she is, and slips on an icy patch. She can feel the snow seeping into her fancy holiday dress and her dignity seeping into the snow when a red-gloved hand reaches down to help her up. She stumbles to her feet, embarrassed.

"Thanks -- Janine."

"You're welcome." Janine smiles a little awkwardly. "I'm surprised anyone else is outdoors tonight."

"I needed to clear my head -- too much turkey."

"Ah," Janine says, and apparently doesn't feel the need to say anything more. Mary Anne can't remember the last time she saw her. It seems like eons since she and Kristy and Stacey raced past Janine's room to escape from her pedantic grammar corrections and weird computer sounds.

"Did you have a nice dinner?" Mary Anne asks.

"Yes," says Janine. Then she says, "No," and stumbles a little. They've turned onto Burnt Hill Road. Janine is walking her home. "It was quiet," she concludes.

"Ours was loud," says Mary Anne. "Two kids... seven adults... it's pretty different from just me and my dad."

"We used to have fancy holiday dinners, my aunt and uncle and the four of us and Mimi. I was always very fond of the whole family eating together. I felt... comfortable."

"Claud never felt comfortable," Mary Anne has to remind her, then feels mean. Janine drops her hand. "I didn't mean --"

"My dinner was very quiet," Janine repeats.

Mary Anne shuffles through the snow, knows that she's making a mess with her tracks. She hopes she does. She hopes everyone who drives on Burnt Hill Road tomorrow, hurrying to the mall, will see her footprints side by side with Janine's, and draw all the wrong conclusions.

"Well." The old house looks older and smaller than ever, but is bright within. The peeling paint is flecked with laughter. "Here you are."

Mary Anne isn't quite sure what to say. "Have a nice walk home," she tries. Janine nods and pivots on her heel. Mary Anne realizes Janine is _resigned_, and in a moment of clarity despises her resignation. Janine was never the beautiful one, never the dazzler. She walks through life in gray and mauve while her sister dances in silver and scarlet. There's no reason for it and nothing that could rectify this injustice. It's too late for Mary Anne to be brave or Janine beautiful, for Mary Anne to be spontaneous and Janine surprising. When the sky clears, the harvest moon shines heavily on misleading footprints where two women paused for a moment in the snow before retreating towards home.


End file.
